"Following his divorce, Felix Sinclair vowed to never commit to a woman again...until he washed up on Poppy Montgomery's doorstep, proving that sometimes taking the road less traveled pays off.
One night of passion promised a lifetime of happiness, but when Felix begins to grow distant, disappearing for long periods of time without an explanation, Poppy begins to suspect that Felix may not be as committed to her as he claims.
They say the hardest part of love is trusting your heart to someone else, but Poppy is about to find out that sometimes the hardest part may be letting go."

J.C. Valentine is the alter-ego of Brandi Salazar, whose enjoyment of erotic tales of romance spurred her to branch out and create her own.
Brandi Salazar lives in the Northwest with her husband, their wild children, and far too many pets. As a university student, she studies literature, which goes well with her dream of becoming an editor. Brandi entertains a number of hobbies including reading and photography, but her first love is writing fiction-in all its forms.

“Lucy, I’m home!” he called out in his best Ricky Ricardo impression. Dropping his tote by the door, Felix kicked off his shoes and hung his jacket on the peg nailed to the wall. He heard rustling in the kitchen and headed in that direction. “Hey, kitten, didn’t you hear…me…calling? What is all of this?”
Pausing in the doorway, Felix soaked in his surroundings. The kitchen was lit by candles. Dozens of candles. They were everywhere. Clustered in the middle of the small table in the corner, dotting the countertops, on the shelf over the stove alongside jars of spices. Not that he was complaining. The soft, ambient glow made Poppy’s exposed ass look plump and firm.
“Shit, baby, the maid’s uniform? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” There really wasn’t much to it. There was the black cap with the white ruffles pinned to her hair, a mind-bogglingly short dress made of the same black and white material, and a pair of heels so tall he couldn’t process how she even began to walk in them.
She was stirring a pot of something on the stove when he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in the side of her neck. “Smells good,” he said against her skin, his lips slowly caressing her.
“This is the dessert. Homemade vanilla pudding. Dinner is on the table.”
It was? He’d missed it completely. But could he really be blamed? With Poppy standing there in nothing but a dress that exposed every part of her worth exposing, he wasn’t left with much of an attention span. “Mmm, I think I’ll have my dessert first.” His hand slid up to cup her breast, which was spilling over the cups of the dress, while the other went in the opposite direction.
A moan ripped out of him as his fingers met her hot, wet flesh. “Shit,” he grunted, resting his forehead against her shoulder. He had barely touched her and he was about to lose control. He needed to calm down.
Laying the spoon she was using to stir the pudding down, Poppy shut off the stove and turned in his arms. When she lifted her arms to wrap them around his shoulders, his hands met the naked, round globes of her very fine ass and he couldn’t resist pressing her up against him.
“I was hoping you would say that.” It took a moment for Felix to catch up and realize that she was talking about his comment to skipping dinner and going straight for dessert. Taking him by the hand, she tugged on his arm. “Come with me. I have something I want to show you.”
If it had anything to do with what was happening under that dress—which left absolutely nothing to the imagination—then he was all for it. The angels must have been smiling on him, because whatever it was she wanted to show him involved following her upstairs, giving him the perfect view of his most favorite parts of her. “Again, are you trying to kill me?” he asked as she led him into their bedroom.
“Death is not what I had in mind for tonight.”